dsmp age regression oneshots

it's okay, you're okay

ᴛʀɪɢɢᴇʀ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ʟɪꜱᴛᴇᴅ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴛᴛᴏᴍ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ

☁️

karl stares brokenly down at the apple juice all over the kitchen floor, the whole carton tipped on its side with juice still dripping steadily out. it was brand new, so there is a lot of mess.

it's spread so far that it's starting to leak under the fridge and he can feel it wetting the front of his socks from where he's frozen stiff in front of the spill.

"karl? what was that?" a voice called from somewhere upstairs.

the brunette doesn't make any move to reply, continuing to focus wholly on the mess he's made as his heartbeat quickens ridiculously quickly.

he hears the footsteps clambering down the stairs and along the hallway towards the kitchen but he remains frozen in place, feeling his eyes go hot with the urge to cry as the top of his throat begins to feel thick.

he has no idea what to do and, worriedly, he realises that his ability to breathe is tumbling away from him.

"karl? what the fuck?" george's voice is much closer now, stepping into the kitchen behind him and sounding more than displeased.

karl feels his shoulders go tight as the first tears breach his waterline, gaze still glued to the sticky juice that covers their marble tiles.

the counters around him feel like they're getting taller and taller, which is increasingly scary since he'd already been small before spilling the juice, so why does it feel like he's regressing more?

he can't breathe.

"karl, don't just stand there dumbass, get the mop or something," george says, angry and stern. karl can imagine the tense expression on his friend's features, brows furrowed and lips curled downwards as he looks past karl to the mess on the floor.

the brunette realises belatedly that he isn't safe.

he's going to get hurt.

"at least pick up the fucking carton man, jesus christ."

george pushes past the brunette to pick up the juice carton- though, it's pointless now, because everything that could've spilt out already has.

still, the feeling of george's shoulder pushing past his own, with a force only there because of his evident anger, makes the regressed boy choke out a sob. it didn't hurt, not really, but it felt like a warning for what was yet to come.

george's head whips back from where he just picked up the carton, sticky cardboard still in his hand when his eyes find karl's.

realisation stains his features and, this time, it's him who drops the carton.

"karl," he says, voice quiet and breathy as his eyes flick all over his friend's demeanour. "i didn't know you were small, oh my god," he speaks more to himself than anything, voice noticeably frantic to someone in the right headspace.